The Blast of 2050

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. "Put on your masks before you go to bed," Mum always said. Purple clouds meant poisonous sky. The residue since The Blast of the year 2050.

It's 3003 now. 953 years since The Blast. And still, we are the generations living with these consequences. We are the ones stuck with these beautiful, yet deadly, purple clouds.

I'm not in bed but flying, flying through my drone taxi, these engines are fuelled by purple clouds. Always wear a mask and gloves when handling. Passengers at the back are drunk and happy. They've taken some illegal purple candies -- underground labs collecting cloud dust from exhaust pipes to create these. It's not blatant, I wouldn't have the evidence if the authorities confronted me. I'm not a rat either. I don't know these people, I keep my head down and eyes on the navigation.

"Which planet did you say?" I confirmed again, just to keep them talking, keep them grounded. "V-E-N-U-S" the Woymen said. "Venus!" screeched the maymn. Okay, Venus, sure, second planet from the Sun. Still within zone, still in this galaxy, no problems.

Female or woman-presenting individuals are now called Woymen, and male or men-presenting individuals are now called maymn. Because we don't really know, and since The Blast of 2050, a new vocabulary was decided upon. So that we could move into this new Era without prejudices, with full tolerance. Let people be whoever they wish to be.

The woymen touched her left ear, "Hello?"

"No, I'm not home yet, you'll have to feed the goblin yourself. Or get Botty to do it."

The maymn starts to scratch the back of his head, raising his right eyebrow. There are three one-inch antennas poking out from the base of his skull, made of copper, he is switching streaming channels while he waits for her to finish her conversation.

I wanted to scratch my antennas but we're not allowed to whilst flying. The Corporation will always know, even if you get away with it for the first few times. Eventually, they'll flag you and you won't be allowed to fly for 36 months.

"That's like a day on Saturn, broyster" my best friend Roo would say.

"Um, no it's not? A day on Saturn is 10 Earth hours, 33 minutes and 38 seconds. Botty can you confirm this?" I would often quip back.

Botty: "That is correct. According to data from 2019 NASA's Cassini Spacecraft, a day on Saturn in Earth time is 10 hours, 33 minutes and 38 seconds."

Roo would then roll her eyes, "Well it doesn't feel like 10 hours when you're there. Our heart rate slows down, our breathing becomes longer. It literally feels like you've been there for 36 months, and if you take the antique saucers to get there, it's pretty much 36 months round trip."

"Yeah, I know, but it's still not worth the risk. How am I going to make money on an antique saucer? That's like for people in their 200's, ready for retirement. We're only in our 80's!"

Roo would then shrug off my concerns and smile and start signing. Whatever random beats that have been trending in their mind's eye and the left antenna's streams.

I miss Roo a lot when I'm flying. She was my co-pilot when we were in training. A childhood friend like no other. Born a maymn, but decided to shapeshift to a Woymen by her 60's. It's been 10 years now. Only Earth years.

A freak accident with Purple Clouds on a last minute flight she accepted.